The Manservant's Bane
by EyrieStory
Summary: Courage, Strength, and Magic go off on an adventure to save the fate of the Kingdom, an adventure full of mayhem, merriment, and sometimes even, true camaraderie. And despite a few hiccups, all is going as well as can be expected. That is, until Poison joins the trio, turning their world upside down, and perhaps unsettling Destiny herself.
1. Chapter 1: Sweet Beginnings

**Title:** The Manservant's Bane

 **Summary:** Courage, Strength, and Magic go off an adventure to save the fate of the Kingdom, an adventure full of mayhem, merriment, and sometimes even, true camaraderie. And despite a few hiccups, all is going as well as can be expected. That is, until Poison joins the trio, turning their world upside down, and perhaps unsettling Destiny herself.

 **A/N:** Welcome! This takes places in Season 4, but is AU and will diverge from canon.

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Sweet Beginnings**

Morgana sharpened the dagger Arthur had gifted her, slowly, lazily, admiring the way the jeweled hilt glittered in the bleak, candle-lit hovel. Oh, the sweet irony it would be to see this beauty plunged into the heart of the one that commissioned it. She smiled.

A knock resounded on her door, and after a pause, four more taps in quick succession—a signal that marked the arrival of Agravaine. Morgana frowned; she was not expecting him.

"Enter," Morgana said briskly.

"My lady," Agravaine said with a hitched breath, bowing, "please forgive my unexpected intrusion."

She continued sharpening the dagger—back and forth and back and forth—the screech of metal on metal exaggerated in the suffocating hovel.

"Please, my lady, I would not have come if I didn't have something important."

Morgana did not look up. "I hope for your sake, it is." She was the one that set the terms here—when and where they met, how and when he could address her, the types of payments he would receive for services rendered—and she did not tolerate any deviations from their understanding.

He swallowed, but continued. "Arthur is readying for a mission whose true purpose he has kept hidden. He has not announced it to the council or even to me. It is by chance that I caught wind of it." He looked up at her from his slightly bowed head, expectant.

Morgana stilled the sharpening and looked at him. "Go on."

"He and his manservant have been readying supplies and horses this morning. The official story is an extended hunting trip, but very little details have been provided, and they're keeping the party as small as possible—a bit unusual for a king to have so little guard for so long."

"It's just him and his manservant?"

"And Sir Gwaine."

Morgana scoffed, thoughtful. "A bit unusual indeed, to bring two of his least useful lackeys." And to leave himself so deliciously vulnerable. "Now, don't waste my time any longer. Where are they really going?"

Agravaine licked his lips and smiled. "I only live to please you, my lady. They are on a quest of the most unusual kind. They seek an item of great, some say unrivaled, power."

At this, Morgana stood, a crack in her cool mask. "Arthur…is seeking an object of magic? He is willing to risk his life for it, and with that, Camelot? This isn't like him."

"No, it isn't…but word has spread that Odin and a group of mercenaries are traveling toward the Valley of the Fallen Kings after catching word about a possible location of this object. The thought of Odin possessing such power may have been incentive enough for Arthur to get to it first."

"What are they saying it is?"

"There's rumors of all sorts of things that Odin could be seeking: the Cup of Life, a crystal born in the heart of magic, the Fisher King's Trident, the Pool of Eternal Youth—but one prevails above all: the Bane of Carmarthen."

Morgana's already pale, sickly skin turned ashen. "It can't be. All records mention it as an obscure legend, originating as a peasant's tale from over a millennia ago, and repeated to this day in the same vein. It's nothing but a children's story, something to frighten bairns away from the _excesses of magic_."

"And yet two kings race to find this bairns' tale," Agravaine said, silkily. "Are you going to take that chance that it isn't real?"

Morgana ran a finger along the dagger, her eyes cool and calculating. "Surely you, my little evangelizer of this unfortunate myth, did not forget its most important message?"

"I'm s-sorry, my lady?"

"Even if it was real and Arthur or Odin were to find it—they wouldn't be able to use it. That is the precious moral of the story, _Uncle_ ," Morgana hissed. "It drove even the most powerful of kings and the most powerful of sorcerers mad trying to unlock its magic. Indeed, it ended up being as useful as a fallen branch for them-power untouched-for all the destruction it wrought. Magic, after all, corrupts the soul. For it was the lust for magic that resulted in the execution of the sorcerer, of course, and in the madness of the king, and in the collapse of his kingdom, only remembered as cautionary tale against folly. That, my dear children, is why magic is evil, and why anyone that practices it, faces not only death, but humiliation in death."

Agravaine bowed his head. "You are right, as always, my lady. There is no doubt that some god would have safe-guarded something with so much power, to prevent those that were unworthy and prone to corruption bringing about our doom. Only the truly worthy, such as yourself, would have the power—" Agravaine stopped mid-sentence at the sight of his mistress' countenance. A flash of panic (of fear?) passed through her eyes, and it made him decidedly unsettled. "Lady Morgana?"

The words came hesitant, stilted, as if under a spell herself. "Arthur or Odin would never unlock the secrets of Carmarthen, but there is one that might. The shadow that never seems to leave my side. My destiny," Morgana said. And under her breath: "My doom."

Morgana shook out of her reverie. "Come Agravaine, for once you have not been entirely useless. Help me prepare for the journey."

Agravaine looked pleased, and not a little bit relieved. "So, will you be following after Arthur then?"

Morgana contemplated, feeling the satisfying weight of the dagger in her hand. "No, I'll need to get closer than that. I will need to infiltrate their merry little group, get in the midst of them, as contemptible as it will be. Perhaps even earn the trust of one of them."

"You think they would fall for that…after everything?"

"No, of course not," she snapped. "At least, not immediately. But you forget that I know my brother very well. For all his rash temper, his great weakness is that he can't help but forgive, even the ones that betrayed him."

Agravaine did not seem convinced. "If you are sure…"

"Trust me, the man has a weakness for pretty faces. Why do you think he keeps Gwen and that manservant of his around?" Morgana grinned wickedly, returning the dagger to its scabbard in her side pocket.

* * *

"Remind me again whose grand idea it was to chase after a children's tale, _Mer_ lin?" Arthur drawled.

They were barely outside of Camelot's castle limits, and already Merlin regretted his role in insisting they go on this adventure. Merlin shifted on his horse, keeping pace with Arthur. "Might I remind you, _sire_ , that it was our noble and esteemed scouts that reported on Odin's activity, and that if there is even a remote possibility of the Bane existing we must prevent it from falling into Odin's hands—or God forbid, Morgana's—and that most importantly of all, _I am always right_." Merlin quirked his lips ever so innocently.

Arthur reached over and clipped him over the side of the head. "That's for always, stupidly, being right."

Gwaine, pacing his horse on Arthur's other side, slugged Arthur's shoulder. Arthur yelped in surprise, turning toward the offender.

Gwaine merely shrugged his shoulders. "That's for being stupidly right about Merlin always being stupidly right."

Arthur narrowed his eyes dangerously. "Well you just earned yourself clean-up duty for the foreseeable future." And he trotted ahead of both them.

The knight winked at Merlin. "Worth it," he said, before speeding after Arthur.

Merlin looked heaven-ward, only asking that he survive this journey with most of his sanity intact. And then he followed after them in a gallop.


	2. Chapter 2: Count on Gwaine

Chapter 2: Count on Gwaine

* * *

"This isn't half bad, Merlin," Arthur said, surreptitiously tasting the stew. It was evening, and the trio was setting up camp for a night under the stars. Or rather, Merlin was setting up camp. Arthur and Gwaine ate their portions ravenously, while Merlin tended the campfire, laid the bed rolls, hauled water for the horses, and undertook anything else his royal arse demanded in the moment.

Gwaine broke apart a rock-hard loaf, and taking a piece, soaked it in the soup and stuffed it in his mouth. "My goz Moylin, you haf outduh yosef," he said and gulped down the bread. "Arthur, I insist you knight the lad here and now."

"Yeah, yeah," Merlin said, moving to rub down Arthur's horse. "Hope you're enjoying it, all cozy by the warm fire over there." He had to admit, the supper smelled divine; his stomach clenched in an all-too-familiar hunger.

"Seriously Merlin, what did you do differently this time? Use some sort of secret ingredient? Usually this tastes like how Gwaine's feet smell."

"Hey, my feet _do not_ smell. Merlin, a little backup?"

"I can neither confirm nor deny," Merlin said gravely.

"Merlin!"

Arthur smirked. "See, even Merlin won't defend you, and he tends to defends criminals, Gwaine. _Criminals_."

Gwaine huffed. "I'll have you know I have been told that my cleanliness is _above_ average."

Arthur looked incredulous. "By who?"

"Why, princesses and baronesses and other ladies of the court, of course." He cocked an eyebrow.

Arthur snorted as he reached for the remaining portion of soup. "That's about as believable as—"

"Wilddeoren," Merlin said matter-of-factly.

"What?" Arthur asked.

"The secret ingredient to this scrumptious stew is wilddeoren meat. Found a dead one while I was gathering firewood. Seemed like it was still good to use—not rotten all the way through." Merlin shrugged his shoulders and continued brushing the horse.

Arthur and Gwaine stared at him for a beat, finding the young servant dead serious. Then both of them sprung up as if possessed and spit out the contents of their mouths. Yelling out various combinations of Merlin's name and curses, they ran to the nearby creek to wash out their palates with cool water.

Merlin smiled. Humming cheerfully, he put down the brush and made his way to the fire. He helped himself to the rest of the meal, savoring each bite.

Both of the men returned, looking rather pale and disheveled. Upon seeing his manservant calmly eating, the royal rushed at him with murderous intent, only to be held back by Gwaine's strong arms.

Merlin serenely finished the last spoonful, handed the bowl to a wide-eyed Arthur, and made his way to his bedroll, where he promptly and soundly fell asleep.

* * *

"So where do we go from here?" Arthur asked, turning to Merlin. It was early, the dawn barely breaking, and they had finished packing up their supplies.

"Well from your scout's report, it seems that Odin has an idea of the location. We should follow him – they may have a head start, but he's moving slower with the thirty-odd men with him."

"Truly your intellect astounds me. Of course we need to follow him. The problem is, _clotpole_ , we need to _find_ the man in order to _follow_ him."

"That's my word!" Merlin sputtered.

"You don't get to just possess words, _Mer_ lin."

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," Gwaine said smoothly as he threw an arm over each of their shoulders. "Count on good ol' Gwaine to have the perfect solution to our predicament."

Arthur and Merlin stared at each other, apprehension etched on their faces.

* * *

"Welcome, friends, and experience the wonder that is Eofham, home of tinkerers, barons, and the occasional pirate." Gwaine raised his arm in a grand sweeping gesture. They passed the gate of the walled city, nestled at the base of the west-most mountains of the Isgaard range. Located almost half-way between the coastal territories and Camelot, it served as a hub for merchants, traders, and traveling dignitaries.

They winded their way slowly amongst the busy market street, lined with wooden structures two to three stories high haphazardly overlapping one another, piecemeal stands occupied by peddling merchants, and the lilting sound of a pipe played by a street musician, rising above the incessant hum of the crowd.

Merlin quickened his horse's pace to catch up with Gwaine. "You know someone here that can help us?"

Gwaine threw him a sly grin. "You could say that."

He smiled back in wonder. 'You and your informants."

"Someone has to keep tabs on the latest kingdom gossip. And they're particularly useful on the movements of certain people—ones that it would be best not to encounter."

"Such as who?"

"Well you know, those that think—mistakenly mind you—I owe them money, or those that hired me for jobs that didn't exactly go to plan." He shrugged his shoulders. "Or my late father's men."

Merlin looked over at Gwaine, contemplating. "Does she know if you're even alive?"

Gwaine rode silently for a moment, eyes directed ahead on the crowd they were passing through, yet seeing nothing in particular. "Maybe, maybe not. Not sure it makes a difference anymore."

"Surely it does for her—"

" _Most of all_ not for her."

"How can you know for sure? I mean, have you ever sent a word to her? Even something like, 'I'm not coming back but at least I'm still kicking.' Not knowing…is worst of all."

'You sound like you have a bit of an expertise here, mate," Gwaine said gently. "Merlin, my father's death broke her, and I was just a painful reminder of it every time she saw me. Trust me when I say it is better this way."

Merlin looked at him sadly, recognizing the finality in his voice.

Noting Merlin's slightly despondent face, Gwaine reached over and slapped his back. "Thanks Merlin," he said with a small smile.

"For what?"

"For being the only one to ever give a damn."

* * *

Finally, Gwaine halted them in front of a sign that read _The Pied Stag_.

"Behold! The solution to our problem!" Gwaine exclaimed, spreading his arms towards the tavern.

Arthur looked unimpressed. "We can't just drink our problems away, as much as you and Merlin would like to."

"Alas, this is not a trip of hedonistic delights," he said with great regret. "The tavern is home to all sorts of drunkards and vagabonds, yes, but it is also a verifiable gold mine of information and the witness of many underhanded deals." He grinned knowingly. "The fates of kingdoms are often decided in the most unpresuming of taverns."

Arthur lifted his hands in resignation and sighed. "Lead the way."

Gwaine and Arthur headed towards the door, while Merlin remained behind to secure their horses.

Inside, Gwaine and Arthur were instantly hit with a clatter of voices, and the stale air of unwashed bodies and alcohol. Gwaine led Arthur to an empty table, and said as they sat, "Watch and learn from the master."

As if summoned, the barmaid sauntered to their table. "What can I get fer ye gentlemen?"

Gwaine turned his head and flashed her a gleaming smile, all teeth and twinkling eyes. "Mary, my love, the sun itself would hide in shame to look upon your radiance."

Mary, the barmaid so prettily addressed, glared at him. "You have some nerve showin' yer mug round here. You best leave now ya hear? Before you cause any trouble."

"Love, I'm a changed man. The Gwaine you knew whose sole talent was to start—and win—tavern brawls no longer exists. Look," he said, pointing at Arthur, "I even have a steady job."

Mary squinted at Arthur suspiciously. "Out, before I get my boys to throw you out."

Gwaine raised his hands placatingly. "We just need a tidbit of information and we'll get out of your hair."

"Oh don't think I'm falling for that again. Do you know who is the one that has to clean up the messes you make each and every tim—" Mary stopped abruptly as a young man entered the tavern, lean and tall and with deliciously soft-looking raven hair. An unassuming Merlin walked to their table.

"Got the horses tied round back. Are we waiting for some…one…?" He trailed off as he finally noticed the heavy-lidded stare directed at him. He met her eyes, and Mary tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and giggled.

Gwaine's mouth hung open, and he looked at Arthur in disbelief. "Are you seeing this?" he whispered.

Arthur nodded. "Oh trust me, I know…"

But Gwaine, if nothing else, was masterful at spotting an opportunity. "Merlin, lad, sit! You must be parched. You have been working yourself ragged lately."

"Thanks Gwaine—"

"Mary, would you get the lad a tankard of ale?"

"Anything for the handsome fella," Mary said, all thoughts of forcibly removing them from the tavern now forgotten.

Once she left, Gwaine moved in on Merlin. "Now listen here, Merlin. We need to get on Mary's good side—she's the one that can tell us about Odin."

" _She's_ your informant?"

"That woman is perhaps the most well-informed person in the entire kingdom."

"Her?"

"Yes, and you'll need to _butter her up_ , if you know what I mean."

"Butt-er her…up?"

"Yes, you know, lace your words with the sweet smoothness of honey. Let's see some of that ladykiller charm the maids are always swooning about."

"The maids say that?"

"Merlin, focus man! We need to know the route Odin is taking, and Mary is our best bet. And _you're_ our best bet to get it out of Mary."

Mary returned and plopped the tankard in front of Merlin. "Need anythin' else there young man?" she asked, her lip curling suggestively.

Merlin gulped. "Yes, uh Marta…"

Gwaine kicked him under the table. "Mary!" he hissed under his breath.

"Ah Mary," Merlin said, "you're looking…physically well today." Arthur had to stop himself from snorting, and Gwaine wanted to groan from his friend's lack of basic courting principles, or hell, even the knowledge of how to be a normal human.

"Oh stop," Mary said, covering her giggles with her hand, as demure as a red-cheeked milkmaid. Knight and king looked at each other, aghast.

"H-how is your existence…on this fine day?" Merlin asked. Gwaine winced, wondering if this could get any worse, and Arthur was grinning like an idiot. Oh, he would never let Merlin forget this moment.

Mary's eyes widened. "How am I doing?"

"Yes, exactly what I mean," Merlin said, nodding his head vigorously. "I want to know how you are. I could listen to your timber-like voice…for minutes on end."

Mary seemed about ready to jump the poor servant's bones there and then. "No one has ever," she said, voice slightly breaking, "for all the years I worked in these bloody taverns, has ever, _ever_ asked me how I am."

Arthur almost choked seeing Mary's lecherous expression aimed at Merlin. He mouthed, " _Is this real_?" to Gwaine, who leaned back with his hands behind his head, smirking and not a little proud of his boy.

Merlin shrugged his shoulder modestly, as if knowing the deepest desire of Mary's heart was a given.

"Tell ya what," Mary said. "The next round for you and yer boys is on the house, and I'll tell ya all about my day, hmm sugarplum?"

"I would love that, sweet fruit."

And with that Mary left, a skip to her step.

" _Sweet fruit_?" Arthur repeated. "You couldn't even think of a _fruit_?"

"What can I say, sire? When you got it, you got it."

While Arthur looked like he was questioning everything he ever knew, Gwaine ruffled Merlin's hair. "I knew you had it in you lad. Well done!"

Mary returned with a round of tankards and sat at their table, close enough for Merlin to feel her hearty breath down his neck.

"Mary," Merlin began, "I hear your vast amount of knowledge rivals even royal advisors."

"Oh I do love a man who notices a woman for more than her shapely form. Yes, I do hear quite a bit hear and there. What would you like to know, my pet?"

"There's been word that Odin and his men are after something…powerful. Have you heard anything about the route they're taking?"

Mary glared at Gwaine and Arthur. "I knew they were bad influences, and now they get ye involved in all sorts of trouble? Walk away, my dear. This isn't something for nice young men to get mixed up in."

"Please, Mary. We would all be in danger if we can't get to him on time."

"Don't I know it. Alright, I will tell you, but promise me you'll be careful. If one hair on his lovely head is harmed," she said, turning to Gwaine and Arthur, "I will personally hunt you down and serve you up for afternoon stew." Both of the men gulped.

Mary continued. "Odin and his men are heading northeast to the Valley of the Kings from the coastline of The Great Seas. Once they reach the river crossing near the valley, they plan to split the group off further to throw off any stragglers. But be careful ya hear? You will not be the only ones following Odin."

"We will be. Thank you, Mary."

"Anythin' for ye, lad," she said as she looked past Arthur's shoulders. Mary's face stilled, all stony business. "Don't look behind ye lads, but there is a table yonder with a group of men who haven't taken their eyes off ye since ye got here. Seven of them, fixed up nicely with fur and armor and ferocious lookin' mugs. Armed to the teeth too."

Gwaine and Arthur looked at each other, assessing. They could instinctively read one another after so many skirmishes together, and here they considered their current assets, using their battle acumen to determine their odds.

"No!" Mary hissed. " _Not in my tavern_! I am _not_ cleaning that up again. And those are trained warriors if you couldn't tell, and you are outnumbered. Yer best bet is me. I will create a nice hubbub, you make a run fer it, ya hear me? _You will run."_

They nodded, agreeing reluctantly.

"Get ready," she whispered. Mary got up to get a tankard as the three followed her movements. She walked over to what looked to be the ring leader of the group, winking and smiling flirtatiously; Merlin couldn't help feeling a little betrayed.

Mary got a little too enthusiastic in her ministrations, and accidentally tipped the tankard onto the man, spilling ale all over his beard and the fur on his chest and shoulders.

With the group's attention occupied, the three men took this as their cue to leave.

"Oh! I'm so sorry! Clumsy me! Please let me help you clean that up," she said, dabbing uselessly at his chest.

The man growled and grabbed her wrist in a vice-like grip. "Please, e-excuse me," she started, but one of the men had shouted and pointed at the entrance.

The three men were near the door when the warriors sprung up and charged after them, readying their weapons: three with swords, two with battle axes, one with a dagger, and one with a bow.

This time, they didn't need any further encouraging when Mary screamed, " _Run_!" They bolted out the door for their lives, the warriors following right on their heels.


	3. Chapter 3: A Flying Kerfuffle

**A/N:** Sorry it took awhile to update. Thanks for reading!

* * *

Chapter 3: A Flying Kerfuffle

Arthur had gotten into many scrapes in his young life. The worst ones, he noted duly, had only been after Merlin (literally) tackled his way into becoming his manservant, with astonishing speed considering his lack of warrior (or any) training.

That's why, in Arthur's mind, he often divided his life as Before Merlin (B.M.) or After Merlin (A.M).

And in this seventh year of our Lord meeting Merlin, the Lord—King Arthur—was finding himself having an existential crisis while running for his dear life.

 _Is this really what I want my life to be?_ he contemplated as he shoved aside passersby in the crowded street to screams of "Watch where yer going ya ingrates!", and "Ill-bred lunatics!", Gwaine and Merlin close behind him as they ran from the fully armed mercenaries. It was midday, the market in full-swing, and moving in this raucous crowd was like swimming upstream. They simply could not make any headway without hurting these people seriously, and that was something none of them were willing to do. Unfortunately, the warriors had no such compunction, and were gaining on them quickly.

"Uh, guys?" Merlin yelped as he barely ducked a sword swing from behind. Even Arthur could feel that whoosh of air above Merlin's head. Under normal circumstances, Arthur would take the fight of three versus seven. After all, he's faced much worse odds before and emerged victorious. But it really wasn't three versus seven. In fact, it was closer to one and a half versus seven. Yes, Arthur and Gwaine were each one, but Arthur had to take away half a person because one of them would need to watch and make sure that Merlin wasn't skewered to death. Having Merlin around was a liability, and this was one of those times that Arthur cursed himself for not properly outfitting his servant with a weapon.

Up ahead, Arthur spotted a merchant stall brimming with goods: hanging rabbit furs and steaming carcasses, bowls of apples and cherries, and barrels of root vegetables. _Can't anything in my life go simply, or must a shadow follow me everywhere I go?_ he asked as he tipped a barrel in front of their pursuers, a cascade of onions rolling into the cobbled road and tripping up multiple innocent people, whose flailing bodies made convenient inconveniences for the rather angry enemy warriors.

Gwaine laughed and clapped his back. "Nice one, princess!"

Arthur glared at him. "Quickly, over here," he said, pointing to an alley. "That bought us maybe a minute at most."

 _Swords form only when they are forged by flame_ , a voice that sounded suspiciously like Merlin's resounded in his skull. "Shut up, Merlin!"

"I didn't say anything!" Merlin yelled over his shoulder, his breath short. Merlin scrutinized the alleyway they were in, his eyes comically large. "Arthur, you realize you just led us into a dead-end? As in, as soon as they find us, which should be any moment now, we're all dead? Pushing up daisies? Kicking the buck-" Merlin jumped as a voice yelled behind him.

"They're in here!" The warriors crowded around the entrance way, the only way out, their weapons drawn as the advanced slowly, but deliberately.

 _Perhaps_ , Arthur thought, _I should have renounced my inheritance and become a farmer after all. It would be worth it just to watch Merlin reap all the grain with a sickle he could barely lift. And of course, there would still be plenty of horse stalls for Merlin to muck. Oh, the glorious, simple life._

"Can you imagine, men, how much the head of Camelot's King is worth?" The man, who was obviously the leader of their merry band judging by the length of his beard alone, sneered at Arthur.

"Come on!" Arthur turned to Gwaine. "I'll give you a boost." He latched his fingers to give Gwaine a foot hold. Gwaine took it and used the momentum to jump and grab on to the roof, pulling himself up with his considerable strength.

Arthur turned to Merlin, only to find that he had already mimicked Arthur's movement and had his hands ready to give Arthur a boost. "No, you idiot! You are going up, _now_!"

"No Arthur, I am not going up until you do!"

The mercenary was merely paces away from Merlin, his sword drawn. "Merlin, I am your King and this is an order! Go _now_!"

"As sweet as this all is, please save your public display of affection for later," Gwaine called from above. The mercenary raised his sword to strike Merlin.

"Merlin listen to Arthur for God's sake!" Gwaine yelled as he hurled a dagger at the mercenary, managing to lodge it in his shoulder. The man screamed and dropped his sword.

" _Now_ , Merlin," Arthur said through gritted teeth, and this time Merlin didn't need any further prompting. Merlin jumped off of Arthur's clasped hands, grabbing onto the edge of the roof. Gwaine pulled Merlin up all the way. They both leaned over and offered their hands to catch Arthur. But at this point, the warriors had closed in on Arthur. The leader, furious and shoulder dripping with blood, charged him.

"Jump, Arthur! We got you!" Gwaine yelled.

Arthur managed to smash into the leader's bad shoulder as he backed up and took a running start toward their outstretched hands. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw another warrior swing at him, but the man seemed to miscalculate his footing and plummeted to the ground instead. As he jumped he felt a bolt whiz past him, a rather embarrassing miss considering how close he was to the archer. Gwaine and Merlin caught his outstretched hands and hauled him up.

Arthur doubled over a little to catch his breath. "I don't think those warriors are all they're cracked up to be."

"Or we've been blessed by the gods," Gwaine said, clapping Merlin on the shoulder.

Arthur straightened. "Yes…or that. Come on, follow my lead." He darted across the wooden logs, his feet nimble and sure. Gwaine and Merlin looked at each and ran after their king. Arthur saw the gap ahead across to the next roof, steeled his muscles, calculated the distance, and pushed off. He made it easily and gave off a little guffaw. _Perhaps I'm not cut out to be a farmer_ , he thought, as adrenaline pumped through his system. He turned back and watched. Gwaine pushed off from the roof and landed on the edge, pulling himself up with no difficulty. Arthur tensed as he watched Merlin. Now, as this was the year 7 A.M., Arthur knew that Merlin was no coward. An idiot, definitely, but without a single cowardly bone in his body. And so Arthur was not surprised when Merlin jumped with almost no hesitation, flying through the air with flailing limbs and, according to Arthur, a rather girlish scream.

Merlin's fingers managed to clasp on to the ledge, but his body hit the side of the building hard. Arthur and Gwaine quickly moved to help Merlin scramble up, and Merlin laid there on the roof, breathing heavily.

On the first building over, the last mercenary had already been pulled onto the roof and they thundered toward them.

"Come on, now's not the time to be lazy, _Mer_ lin. Let's go!" The next building was a story higher than the one they were on, with a thatched, sloping roof.

"You sure that's a good idea, Arthur?" Merlin huffed.

One of the warriors was readying to jump behind them, and Arthur could hear the string of the bow being pulled back. "It's not like we have a choice. Just…follow what I do alright?"

Arthur ran toward the taller building, but he was distracted by the sound of the arrow knocking and the shout of "Watch out!". The split second before he took off Arthur knew that he had misjudged and would not make it the distance. It was as if time had stilled; each second suspended mid-air felt an eternity. Yes, oddly, he had enough time to form all these thoughts and to even look around him and below him. His mud-caked boots—Arthur would need to make Merlin clean and polish them after this, that lazy arse of a servant—had nothing to hold them up, yet here he was, two stories high above the ground and not plummeting to his death, or to at least very serious injury. He felt the air dragging across his body, holding him up like it was a physical entity, and he had the distinct impression that he was flying.

Time returned to normal speed like a jolt, and Arthur slammed into the building. He had enough instinct and presence of mind to grab on to the roof before falling, and pulled himself up, using a window ledge below as leverage. He rested on the thatched roof, waiting for his pounding heart to calm. He sat up and assisted Merlin and Gwaine up as they made their jumps. Merlin squeezed Arthur's shoulder as if checking for himself to make sure Arthur was still there. Arthur shook his head. Merlin always was an odd one.

The three of them scrambled up, using their hands to try and not slip against the sloped roof. Arthur reached the peak and rested briefly. Gwaine and Merlin joined him, but as they did so, they heard a suspicious creaking under the combined weight of all three men.

"Arthur, do you think that perhaps this spot is rotted throu—" Merlin could not finish his question as the roof collapsed below and they found themselves falling. Arthur fell first, broken by the second story floor and then by the ground floor, Gwaine next, his fall broken by Arthur, and Merlin last, his fall broken by Gwaine.

Each of them moaned on the ground floor, until Arthur pushed himself up unsteadily. "Yes, _Mer_ lin, I do believe that spot was rotted through."

As Arthur assessed his surroundings, his saw the markings of a rather humble home. A child, no more than perhaps five, was looking at them with wide eyes. And beside him, an elderly woman, perhaps his grandmother, weaving at a loom. She looked at them briefly, then continued to weave as if three men falling through her roof was not worth her time.

"We do apologize for the disturbance," Gwaine started.

He was unable to finish however, as they heard the warriors stomp on the roof above. They came upon the hole and jumped, landing much more gracefully and purposefully. The circled around Arthur, Gwaine, and Merlin, cutting off the entrance. The young boy ran to hide beside his grandmother, and she stopped her weaving.

"Let's take this outside like real men," Arthur addressed the bearded leader.

He snarled. "No, I think I like you exactly where you are."

"There's an elderly woman and child here. You're after me, leave them out of this."

"Well the way I see it, you're not going to put up much of a fight if you think they'll get hurt. So…Erik, hold the sword to the woman and boy. If you so much as raise a hand, Arthur Pendragon, Erik will run his sword through them both."

The boy let out a whimper as the man named Erik pointed his sword to his neck.

Arthur raised his hands in surrender, and Merlin and Gwaine reluctantly followed his lead. "Do not hurt them. Take me instead."

"I don't plan on taking you anywhere. I have a platter already picked out for your head." The leader pushed Arthur to kneel with a thud, and grabbed a battle axe from his subordinate.

"Surely King Arthur is worth more alive!" Merlin said. "You could demand an unfathomable ransom!"

He stilled his axe and thought a moment. "No. The instruction was dead or alive. And frankly you lot are a lot less trouble dead."

And he struck.

Arthur felt that moment of timelessness again as the axe descended onto his neck and another current of air pushed past him. Except this time, the forceful blast was aimed at the warriors. Each and everyone of them flew back with such force that they hit the walls, shelves, and even the loom with sickening cracks, falling into unconscious heaps like sacks of flour.

Arthur, still on his knees, took a moment to register what happened. _Magic._ Arthur swirled around to look for the source. The grandmother looked decidedly unpleased at the mess and especially at the destruction of her loom.

Something made Arthur turn around, and he saw Merlin there, with his arm outstretched. Merlin met Arthur's look, terror-stricken. Arthur froze and could not look away.

The boy, his eyes wide with awe, exclaimed, "Wow! Can you do that again?"


End file.
